PureCrow - MMG - Chapter 2 - Price & Prophet

The void shattered into a montage of pure chaos.

 A heavy bassline kicked in. Gunfire matched the pulsing rhythm. Helicopters banked hard over a sprawling urban warzone. Operators dropped from the sky trailing colored smoke. Explosions ripped through concrete apartment blocks. A massive stadium collapsed into a cloud of dust. The title card slammed into my vision in bold white lettering. Call of Duty Warzone.

The logo dissolved into a blinding white light. Heat washed over my skin. I brought a hand up to shield my eyes from a glaring midday sun. The roar of twin jet engines rattled my teeth as two fighter jets tore across the cloudless blue sky. The smell of aviation fuel and hot asphalt filled my lungs.

"So you are the new recruit?"

A voice with a British accent called out, drawing my attention. I dropped my hand and blinked the spots from my vision. Captain John Price stood right in front of me. He wore full tactical combat gear. His iconic boonie hat sat low over his eyes. A thick cigar chewed between his teeth. 

It was surreal looking at him in the flesh. After seeing him so many times in my last life.

"Yes sir." My voice lacked total conviction.

"Got a callsign son?" Price asked. He shifted the cigar to the corner of his mouth. "Can't just call you recruit out in the field."

Right. This was a game. I needed a name. My mind flashed to my favorite game from my past life. Crysis. I thought of the heavy armor and the brutal combat.

"Prophet," I said, hoping it would work.

A crisp chime echoed in my ears. White text overlaid my vision.

[Name Prophet has been designated for the game, Call of Duty Warzone. Would user like to lock in the name for all games and social spaces?]

I blinked at the prompt and hit confirm.

"Prophet." Price let out a rough chuckle. A puff of smoke curled around his weathered face. "Catchy. I'm Captain Price. You don't sound too sure of yourself yet Prophet. But we will make a soldier out of you."

He gestured for me to follow. We walked across the hot tarmac toward a row of long metal barracks.

"You know why you are here?" Price asked. He did not look back. "Traditional wars are over kid. The world moved on. Now they set aside specific places for operators to fight for pure glory. We drop you into different maps. You acquire gear on the ground. Complete your objectives. Remove the opposition from the board. Last man standing takes the crown."

He shoved a heavy metal door open. "But first we need to get you out of those civilian clothes."

The changing room stretched out long and narrow. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Rows of featureless mannequins stood at attention. They wore different types of military gear from various international divisions. Nothing looked too extravagant. It was just enough variety to let a guy distinguish his teammates in a firefight.

I walked down the line. I bypassed the standard desert camos and woodland greens. I stopped in front of a sleek all-black design. It featured heavy knee guards and a tactical top that looked like a rugged hoodie.

Maybe, not the best if I wanted to hide in some bushes or something but it looks cool.

I grabbed the gear and pulled it on.

Price watched me adjust the sleeves. "Basic issue. Once you earn your keep you can order custom outfits. Gonna cost you of course."

I rolled my eyes. Forge Industries really had to plug the microtransactions on day one. At least they had not reached EA levels of greed yet.

I fell into step behind Price as we left the barracks. Forge Industries promised ninety-nine percent realism for their revolutionary full-dive VR system. I could easily believe it now. The crunch of gravel under my boots felt perfect. A tiny stiffness in Price's eyes gave me a fleeting uncanny valley feeling but it barely registered.

Well Forge did create the Danger Room from the X-men in some universes. So I wasn't expecting any less.

We entered a corrugated metal building. The air inside felt cooler and smelled sharply of smoke and gun oil. Wooden barricades and sandbags formed a dozen shooting lanes. Pockmarked mannequins stood at varying distances down the range. Spent brass casings littered the concrete floor.

Price grabbed a heavy Kevlar vest off a nearby crate and tossed it to me.

"Put it on."

I slipped it over my head. He stepped in close and yanked the side straps tight. The pressure against my ribs felt completely real.

"Ammo pouches sit on your waist. Medical goes down here. This chest pouch is the one you need to care about."

He pulled a matte black sidearm from his own rig and slapped it into my palm. The metal was cold and carried genuine weight.

"This is your lifeline. It doesn't matter what primary weapon you carry into battle. You will always have a handgun right on your chest. It proves useful in a pinch where you don't have time to reload your main gun or you find yourself lying on the floor. It lives right here." He tapped the center of my vest. "Now let's see how accurate your aim is."

I stepped up to the firing line. I raised the pistol. I lined up the iron sights with the closest mannequin. I squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened. The trigger locked solid.

Price let out a rough laugh. "Fuck you really are a greenhorn. The safety is on the right side of the gun."

Heat flooded my cheeks. I fumbled with my thumb and clicked the small lever down. I took a breath and fired three rapid shots. The recoil kicked my hands upward and the loud cracks left my ears ringing. Splinters blew out of the wooden dummy's chest.

"Well at least you aren't completely useless." Price watched the target.

I dropped the empty magazine and reached for a fresh one on the table. I wanted to keep going.

"Move on kid." He waved me away from the lane. "I am not going to take you through all the guns. You will have to test them yourself in your own time. You can return here anytime you want."

I definitely planned on doing exactly that.

Price grabbed a compact canvas backpack and shoved it into my chest.

"Quick deploy parachute. Specially designed for urban movement. It allows for quick deployment of the chute whether you are jumping off a building or out of a plane."

I slung it over my shoulders. Next he handed me a sleek tactical wrist computer. I strapped it to my left forearm.

"This handles your maps. You use it for calling in support or controlling your headset to communicate with your teammates."

He tapped the screen on my arm. A digital map flickered to life.

"Follow me. Let's look at the armory."

We left the shooting range and walked to a heavily reinforced bunker next door. Racks of assault rifles and sniper variants lined the steel walls. Only a few basic models sat unlocked. Red padlocks hovered holographically over the rest.

"The range gives you the basics," Price said. He ran a hand over a locked heavy machine gun. "You unlock more hardware as your rank increases. You level up and the arsenal opens up. You can also customize your attachments."

"At a cost of course," I muttered.

"Nothing in this world is truly free, Prophet."

Price walked out the back of the armory. I followed him into a wide dirt field. Several plywood buildings stood in the center. They looked like a makeshift mock town.

"Tactical exercises," Price pointed at the closest structure. "You cannot just run in guns blazing. We need to teach you how to clear a room."

We spent the next hour running through the plywood maze. Price showed me how to slice the pie on a doorway. I learned how to check blind corners without exposing my center mass. He taught me the silent hand signals. A clenched fist to halt. Two fingers pointing at my eyes and then the target to signal enemies ahead. We ran it over and over until my legs burned and my reactions smoothed out.

We finally stepped out of the training house.

"You have the basics down." Price adjusted his hat. "When you feel ready you can use that wrist computer to drop into a real match. You can queue up with randoms or contact your own friends. Try not to embarrass  me, Prophet."

He turned and walked away toward the hangars.

I looked down at the glowing screen on my wrist. Jumping into a match blind with a bunch of random players sounded like a quick way to experience friendly fire. I needed a squad to run some drills with first.

I tapped the social tab on the display and pulled up the search bar. I remembered my friend talking about this game. I remembered the exact stupid codename he swore he was going to use. I typed the letters in and hit the call button.

A low digital ringing noise buzzed in my ear. I stared out over the virtual airstrip and waited for him to pick up.

AN. Anyone guess who his friends are going to be.

Hint. I just watched the new Spiderman today.

Once again don't own the image found it with a google search.